Above the Vaulted Sky - page 147

               ‘Oh right? How’s that going?’

                ‘Not great, there’s just more stone underneath.’

                ‘How can they do this?’ I ask. ‘We have to find a way out.’

                ‘Give me a list of what you’ve got in the cell.’

                ‘Bucket, bed, chains, straw,’ I say. ‘It’s like a Travelodge.’

                ‘You get a bed? That’s just unfair,’ she exclaims. ‘Shows how they treat a lady around here.’

                ‘Maybe you had the right idea with the tunnel,’ I say.

                ‘I’m telling you Easton, we’re underground, there’s only stone. Stone, stone, stone. No tunnels for us.’

                ‘No but we’ve been thinking like ghosts to get out. Maybe we have to think like the living.’

                ‘Nice,’ she thinks. I see her body light up like a literal light bulb of an idea. ‘Does that fancy bed of yours have any nails in it?’

                I cross over to it. ‘Yeah loads,’ I reply.

                ‘Break it,’ she commands.

                ‘Elle, I’m not The Hammer,’ I think, referring to one of my superhero favourites.

                ‘Yeah well, Science Boy will have to do,’ she says. ‘Get a nail out and maybe you can pick the door open.’

                ‘Easier said than done.’

                ‘Quit your whining. Smash it, Hammer.’

                ‘It’s The Hammer,’ I say. I brace myself and let a kick fly at the old wooden bed.

                I crash into it, and it rattles on its hinges. It vibrates and sends a shock wave of pain up my leg.

                It doesn’t move but the chains rattle in the wall, letting a cloud of dust fall from each. I target those.

                ‘How are you getting on?’ Elle thinks. ‘I can’t see what you’re doing. It looks like you’re having a fit in the Edge.’

                ‘Just fine.’ I grit my teeth and pull on the chains with all my might. I place two feet on the plank and use my whole body weight, jerking backwards.

                ‘It looks like you’re water skiing on thin air,’ she says. ‘At the very least this is entertaining me.’

                I don’t reply this time, just put more effort into my struggle. I feel sweat on my brow. In my head, I think of Windermere and realise it’s only the memory of sweat. My strength is relative to my hanging on to my old life, my living life. I’m a ghost and ghosts have no strength. That means that technically I can do anything I want.

                I feel a resurgence of stamina in my arms and legs and pull one last time. The chain, along with its fixings and two stout nails fly out of the wall sending me flying backwards onto my backside.

                ‘We’re  in business,’ I think.